“That’s just mean,” the boy known as Skinny muttered. “You guys will find that Orange is a very interesting, adventurous, humorous person, and that I’m pretty much the most boring human being ever born.” With a satisfied sigh he unclasped the last lock on Isaac and stood up. “But we call your Orphan friend Happy behind his back because he’s the exact opposite of that. When he has a bad day he likes to beat his fists against a stone wall until the knuckles bleed. But he’s not all that bad. Sometimes he shares his food.”

“Wait,” Sadina said, rubbing her eyes, now sitting on the end of her bed, almost touching the one named Orange with her knees. “Wait . . . just wait. Lots of questions, here, but who is this Orphan friend you keep talking about? We don’t have an Orphan friend, unless you’re talking about Isaac.” She reached back and squeezed his hand. “But you say the word like it’s some kind of title, and the same as you. I promise we don’t have any friends who walk around bragging that they don’t have names or parents.”

“But he was with you when our Bergs arrived,” Skinny said.

“You mean that Minho guy?” Trish asked. “The crazy dude that climbed out of the river with a log and bashed Letti over the head? The guy who showed up with his grandma?”

The questions were enough to make both Skinny and Orange look perplexed.

“His grandma?” Skinny repeated, as if that might be the strangest word uttered in the entire conversation.

“Let’s get on with it,” Orange said. “We only have a couple of hours before we get to Alaska, so we better get a move on.”

“Alaska?” Isaac, Trish, and Sadina said all at once.

“No more questions,” Orange commanded. “It’s not our place. Get cleaned up, use the bathroom, we’ll be waiting at the door. You have fifteen minutes.”

Isaac and his friends stood up, stretched, made annoying moans and grunts as they did so.

Sadina pointed at the black, sparkling material wrapped around Orange’s body like a second skin. “What’s with the . . . the weird pajamas? You guys ever take those off?”

Orange frowned but Skinny seemed willing enough to share. “They’re called artillery suits. Not many Orphans are trained on how to wear them and use them, but we are. Maybe someday you three can be as cool as us. They’re a lot of fun, in practice anyway. Probably not so much if we’d ever have to use them . . .” He didn’t finish and appeared to regret opening his mouth in the first place.

“It takes a lot of skill,” Orange added, as if implying that none of them had such skills.

“What are the pockets stuffed with?” Isaac asked. They bulged like elongated tumors on their arms, legs, and down the front of their torsos.